


Breathe The Fall

by KayCeeCruz



Series: It's Only Time [3]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayCeeCruz/pseuds/KayCeeCruz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin ponders his choices.</p><p><i>There were days, weeks that I could manage. Not think about him. Not feel his hands or hear his voice. Times where I wouldn’t dream about his smell or face. And I could move ahead. Move forward. I built a life, one that I was proud of. One that I thrived in. I made friends that I enjoyed being with.</i></p><p><i>It's Only Time</i> series takes place directly after the last Brian and Justin scene in 513. The arc shows how Brian and Justin try to get back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to April for beta-reading this even when she was scared to. Much appreciation to both Sy and Angel for offering their help. Props to the song _The Darkest Night of All_ by Lisa Germano which inspired this series.

  


 

 **Breathe The Fall**

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

I stare at the colorless ceiling, listening to the soft breathing next to me, refusing to look over at the body that produced it. Every time I did, disappointment would cut deep and I would need to escape. To the only place I didn’t have to pretend.

I lift the covers off, quietly leaving the bed…leaving him behind. The lights from the city bathed the dark room with an eerie glow. It reminded me of home in many ways. I look out the window, taking in the beauty below. Paris…the land of art and love. Romance bloomed, lived, breathed, moved in this wondrous city. It surrounded me daily.

Never quite reaching inside.

I lean my head against the cool glass, the unending ache burning steadily and I laugh mirthlessly.

How the fuck did I get here?

And why wasn’t it enough?

My mind wanders over the last two years, looking for the moment I had decided that I needed to sacrifice all I was and loved for this…

I can’t think here so I move, taking a jacket from the stand next to the door. I grab the keys to the studio, opening and closing the door as quickly and silently as I can. I breathe once outside the confines of what is supposed to be home and start climbing the stairs to my sanctuary. The only place left I still feel like Justin.

Not Monsieur Taylor. I hated that fucking name. It wasn’t who I was…who I wanted to be. Somehow it had become who I was supposed to be.

The door stands before me and I smile for the first time. Pride blooms quickly whenever I’m here. I made this happen. Bought the loft and flat with money I made doing what I loved. It was the only thing that made sense to me anymore.

My work. I lived and breathed it.

Commissions, art shows here and back in the States, private work for collectors….it all seemed like a dream. That I had made it this far. It seemed like such a short time, but I had gotten lucky.

Good reviews…good people who worked to help…and the man I’d left in the bed.

Paul…

I was grateful for him. He was my friend…my mentor…and more.

 _But never your partner._

I shake the thought out. It was the truth, I knew that. But it shouldn’t have been. I should have been able to give him more.

I couldn’t. And if I was honest, I didn’t want to.

My eyes are drawn to the canvas across the room, following the lines of the face sketched there. It feels like a punch and I struggle to breathe. He was beautiful. Even in a fucking useless drawing.

 _“Drawing my cock again?”_

 _“Just doodling.”_

The memory rushes through my mind and the ache magnifies, almost pushing me to fall on my knees. I grab onto the counter and grimace against it.

This wasn’t supposed to still hurt.

Fuck.

I can’t seem to look away even as the pain intensifies, the look on his face like the one from that night. It was everything and nothing. All his pain, his love, his pride, his want for me, his fear.

It had scared the shit out of me.

Because if he had asked me to go with him, to come back home, I would have left it all behind.

It had started so simply. I missed him, yearned for him so much it would become a distraction. And I would pick up the phone, hear his voice, and want nothing more then to be home.

“I’m coming back.”

“The fuck you are,” he would say.

We’d argue for hours until I was so angry that I’d hang up and be grateful I was hundreds of miles away, otherwise I would have killed him.

And then I’d miss him more.

The calls became wounds that would never heal. Every time his voice came over the waves, I would want…just want. His hands, his smell…him. I would close my eyes and feel him next to me….inside….all around.

I won’t even admit how many times I packed my bags and headed for the airport. Too many to count.

Then…it became just hearing his name mentioned, whether it was my mother…or Molly…or Debbie. I would choke up…feel the emptiness spread and need to leave the conversation. Later I could use it for…inspiration? Is that what I called it?

It was torture. Pure and simple. For both of us.

And then it changed…grew… and the pain seemed to cover everyone I loved. Debbie’s voice could bring me to tears…Emmett and Ted….even Michael’s would have me panging for home. With them. With Brian…and it would start all over…the anguish. I never imagined it was going to be so difficult.

It was Paul who had suggested that I needed a little distance. To perhaps let what once was life go. To build a new one.

I’d told him to fuck off.

I know that he had meant well but…that was my family. The only thing I’d known. I could never leave them behind.

And then one night…it changed.

And somehow I did. I called home less. The hurt subsided enough that I could function. I could work and focus on the reason I had to leave. I shoved away the guilt when the messages piled up and began to slow down until they nearly stopped. I knew that they loved me. They knew I loved them. We still had holidays and the occasional birthdays.

And the distance grew…became familiar…the norm.

Except for Brian.

He’d continued to call and email as much as he could. But it had changed, and we had become polite friends overnight. People who once knew each other but no longer.

Every call…every email…covered up our pain even as it threaded through every word. Unspoken and yearning so, that it cost too much. It would pull at us constantly. And eventually that became too real….too hard…and we stopped.

Hollow and empty without him, without all of them, I turned to work and relationships that were never supposed to be. Turned to Paul to fill in the silence, the void I couldn’t will away.

Pain management.

All because of one fucking night…

An artist’s first showing was the best night of his life. At least that’s what I had always been told.

It was filled with praises and excitement. Fancy people with fancier words piling me with compliments and drinks. I fumbled through it, sensing the same fakeness in them that I had in Hollywood. I guess all business, even art, had it’s share of hypocrisy.

It was through the din of voices that I heard the familiar sounds of the people I loved. Debbie’s loud laughter…the boys’ not so subtle banter about the food, folks, and fucks to be found in New York…Mel and Lindz sharing knowing looks across the room…my mother and sister’s proud revelry at what I had accomplished…even Ben’s calmness drifted to me, surrounding, and I soaked it all in.

And that ache returned…flared so sharply that I had to stop from bending in pain.

Shit. It had been the worst pain I’d felt…until I’d seen him.

He was standing with Hunter in a corner watching over the group as they wandered around. I knew the minute he felt my gaze as his back stiffened slightly and he turned to meet my eyes. His smile was the most brilliant I had ever seen. Mine returned of its own volition. He held a brightly wrapped gift in his hand and I grinned deeper, if that was possible. He had brought me a present. Brian Kinney had bought me a present.

We stood that way for what seemed ages until I felt a hand circle my waist and I turned to see Paul. He was introducing me to some art critics. I barely heard their names, nodding and exchanged pleasantries.

I turned quickly to Brian and my heart stopped.

He was frozen, staring at us, and as I tried to shake off Paul, he looked away for a moment. I followed his gaze and noticed that everyone was watching. I pulled Paul’s hand off and he turned to me, kissing me softly before returning to his conversation.

When I could return my attention to the group, they all seemed to have found something more interesting to look at. Except for Brian. He was staring at me, coming to stand in front of me.

“Hello Sunshine.”

His smile ripped at me and I reached for him, even as my own heart broke at the contact. I buried my face in his chest and almost sobbed when his arms wrapped around me, holding tightly for far too long to make it casual. His breath seemed labored and I knew he was fighting the same demons I was.

We pulled away then and I stared up at his face, tracing one finger over the stubble that covered his jaw. “I think I like the look.”

He smiled again, though it never reached his eyes, and shrugged. “It was shave or miss the plane.”

“Well, fuck that.”

He laughed softly, one arm coming around my shoulders, and turned to survey the room. “Not bad, Sunshine.” I knew that meant he was thoroughly impressed, and I turned to thank him for his unbelievable compliment when I heard Paul’s voice behind us.

“Well, I don’t think we’ve met.”

I closed my eyes. I hadn’t had a chance to speak to Brian yet.

“Brian, this is Paul. Paul Sanders. He’s my…” I wasn’t even sure then what category Paul fell into, “manager.”

Brian looked down, extending his hand out to the other man. “Brian Kinney.”

“I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Kinney. It’s a pleasure.”

Brian nodded. “Usually is, yes.”

Paul paused for a moment, unsure of what response was appropriate for that. He chose to ignore it and continue. “I’m sorry to steal Justin away, but the _NY Times_ wants just a quick statement.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Paul took the hint and, looking at Brian once more, walked away silently.

I couldn’t bring my eyes up, afraid of seeing that empty nothingness he would have on his face. The _I don’t give a shit_ Kinney mask. But when I looked into his face…it was pain and pride warring with one another. He smiled softly, leaning his head to touch mine, one hand held at the back of my head. His eyes remained closed even as I stared, dizzy from the nearness of him. I wanted to scream at him to take me home. It was so deep, that need, that I couldn’t breathe.

I would give it up for him. None of it was important.

“Congratulations, Justin,” he’d whispered then.

Hands entwined, I leaned into his scent, his heat, until I could hear the murmur around us begin to fade and all I could feel was him. It seemed to last a lifetime and not nearly long enough.

He pulled back, cocking his head in Paul’s direction. “You better go meet your destiny, Sunshine.” He held onto my hand for a beat longer, and then he kissed me. So soft and gentle that I was startled by it. Before I could react he was gone and I was surrounded by questions. I answered them in a haze, never quite hearing what was said.

Nothing else stuck with me from that night. I’d sold almost all the work I had displayed, something almost unheard of for an unknown to do. But I knew then, like I do now, that I lost so much more.

Here I was…success story to the world. Dreams that seemed impossible come true. I’d be damned if I felt ashamed of that. It was what I had wanted. But what the fuck had been the point?

There were days, weeks that I could manage. Not think about him. Not feel his hands or hear his voice. Times where I wouldn’t dream about his smell or face. And I could move ahead. Move forward. I built a life, one that I was proud of. One that I thrived in. I made friends that I enjoyed being with.

It was my life.

It was what I had chosen. And I was…content. When the agony wasn’t gnawing at me…when I didn’t miss him…them all so much that it hurt to breathe.

Not being there was supposed to ease the pain. It was the reason I had fled halfway across the country. The ache was unbearable. Time and distance was supposed to heal and make it better. I should have been able to go on. Miss them but not allow it to cripple me. But it seemed to gain strength over time, the pain.

Letting them go was never going to happen. I knew that now.

Letting him go…impossible.

How did I get here? So far away from who I wanted to become and so exactly the person I was.

My eyes fall on the canvas once more and my heart beats faster…like it always will when I look at him. I let my head rest against the cold marble of the wall as I continue to stare at the only remnants I have of him. Memories…

The pain…it was deep and abiding and endless….it would be there until the moment I ceased to exist. It was forever and I could never outrun it no matter how fucking hard I tried.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

This hard to live without him. This easy to yearn and want and need…to forget and remember. To want it all and nothing at all.

It wasn’t supposed to be...


End file.
